Tracking Luxe (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 3)

by V. Theia

  He didn’t have to be a bleeding record.

  He could track her down.

  Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time, he was an old hat at stalking his woman now.

  “Come, on, mopey bastard, Rider called church.” Snake clapped him on the shoulder. After a fast shower that didn’t include any handjob action he strode up the basement stairs and along the far hallway leading down to the last door on the end he walked into the sacred church only his patched brothers could step over the door to. If a prospect dare push his fat head through that door he was likely to get a couple dozen knuckle sandwiches and his prospect vest ripped off him.

  Rider ran a tight ship and everyone followed the rules. Respect the rules or don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

  Finding everyone already in their respective seats he took his next to Preacher. With his hair still in wet tufts, he stuffed his beanie hat in his pocket, folded his hands on the table and waited to see what the change of schedule meeting was all about.

  “You going to this party tonight, or the Mrs won’t let you out to play?” one half of his mouth quirked turning gray eyes on his buddy. The asshole didn’t even have the decency to fake being pissed off. Preacher was happier than a pig in fresh horse shit. Married life looked good on him, really fucking good, there was a time there he’d been worried his buddy would take a road he couldn’t come back from.

  The love of a good woman, how fucking ironic when it was a woman leading him around by the balls in hopes of catching a glimpse of her to soothe his ego.

  “We’re both coming, but can’t stay, don’t wanna leave the kid too long with my folks, it’s Rube’s only night off.”

  “And you don’t wanna waste it by being around a buncha morons when you can be home under your old lady.” He finished for him.

  Preacher wiggled his big brows.

  He was jealous of the asshole.

  Oh, not of his Ruby. Good looking woman, heart of gold, but no attraction there, thank god, Preacher would knock his head off and bury him in a swampy grave.

  But having someone to go home to. Grinder was starting to think that might be nice.

  “Are you bringing your thief tonight?” Preach brought Grinder out of his Sally-homemaker dreams and before he could rein himself in, a scowl marred over his face at his long-term friend and had the unnatural urge to growl.

  Only he could call her a thief.

  Oh, there was no derision in Preacher’s tone, the guy wasn’t like that, didn’t judge people for what they did and he wouldn’t ever, say a bad word against a chick, so Grinder’s instant reaction was way out of line, but it was there, niggling at the back of his skull to defend his...his, to defend Luxe, she wasn’t just a thief.

  She was smart, so fucking smart, and funny with a dry wit sharp enough to cut glass, sarcastic with it and her teasing side was about as much as Grinder could take at any one given time, she riled him up, she stirred him and pissed him off more than any woman ever had before and that list included a woman who had dumped his younger self and never looked back.

  She was his thief.

  “Luxe. And nah. It’s not like that.” It should be like that. His mouth quirked, meeting Preacher’s upturned brow while the other brothers around them made their own noise. “She only wants one part of me, bro, I doubt she wants to sit down and have chow time.”

  “Brutal.” Laughed Preacher clapping his shovel hand hard on his back, lucky for Grinder he didn’t need that part of his spine.

  More fortunate for Grinder and his sob story, Rider called the meeting in order and soon as it was wrapped up it would be time for work and maybe tonight he’d get drunk and not think a second of a bewitching thief.

  “So, on top of the Russian’s being up our asses, I got word the Diablo’s are having trouble from the ATF with a plague of anonymous tip-offs. Three of their boys have caught jail time in the last month. I spoke to Axel.”

  “I bet that was fun.” Interrupted the Butcher, a dark twist of sarcasm lacing his usual even toned voice. The only man who had gone up against the president of the Diablo Disciples MC once upon a time, a smaller crew outside Colorado, and lived to tell the tale.

  “Like a prostate exam, his boys got lifted for petty shit, stuff the ATF shouldn’t even have eyes on. He suspects a snitch. I’m putting the word out to Steele tomorrow.”

  “The fuck for?” Grinder asked before he could stop himself. Every pair of eyes came at him, surprised with his outburst. Shrinking back in his chair his brows bunched in the middle and he lifted a hand to tug the beanie he always wore and found only hair up there. Fuck.

  “Because, you evil shit, he’d do the same for us. We’re trying to play in the same sandpit if you’ve forgotten. I’d rather keep the other MC’s on side.”

  Grinder made a noise, a verbal eye roll. “I don’t know what the fuck for, Prez. They all know we’re the biggest club, we don’t owe them anything, it should be them on their knees to us.”

  “I think that’s Nate’s kinky side showing.” Lawless smirked dryly from his side of the table, one hand going back and forth on his shaved head. He was wearing a black wifebeater that showed off the full effect of his neck/collarbone tattoo. That thing was creepy as fuck.

  Grinder ignored in favor of focusing on what he was hearing, that his club was about to do favors for Steele. What the fuck ever. Dickhead.

  Steele who might be right now with his ... Not his… woman. Okay, he could breathe through this shit.

  He felt Preacher knock his massive shoulder into his, and ask silently with his eyebrows what the fuck he was doing. He shook his head.

  “Maybe the Diablo’s are just crazy stupid.” Offered Snake. “I mean, who’s to say they’re not talking about the shit they’re doing, that gets the law on the watch, those punks are trying to get in the arms trade last we heard, it’s for morons. It doesn’t take much and the cops are all over your stink.”

  “Charlie Timmon’s young deputy, you know the one, wet behind those massive ears of his, is always lurking in his little patrol car. Little twat thinks he’s gonna grab one of us and he’ll be promoted to deputy fucking dawg. I’m telling ya, always gotta have eyes in the back of your head,” supplied Tag. Prince Charming, as the boys penned him was sprawling his 6’3 self at the other end of the table, fingers tapping a tune only he could hear, hair as blonde as his eyes were teal blue, not utilizing his particular set of skills at the moment since he neither had a gun in each hand or a woman sitting on his face. Instead he was nursing a cup of coffee as big as his head, from the smells of it, it was one of uncle Jed’s fancy pants coffee. Fuck, Grinder loved that stuff Jed got in for Z-girl before she got knocked up. He should have swung by the main room first and grabbed one.

  “What does this mean for us?” Tag added, slurping the coffee without the table manners his mama would have beaten into him.

  “It means when we go to collect the green we’re extra vigilant. If we have meets for the bunkers we double back to make sure we aren’t bein’ followed. The shops all have a veil of legal about them so I ain’t too worried for those, besides, Tex here keeps them straight,” said Rider at the head of the table. “I thought Axel might be bullshittin’, what with him not likin’ us much.” All eyes flipped to the Butcher who sat stony faced. The only indication he was taking it all in was the tick in his jaw.

  “Fuck you all, seriously.” He muttered.

  “Hey, we’ve all been there, brother,” smirked Arson in the process of scraping his shoulder length hair with his fingers he tied it back. Fucking hell, was church becoming a beauty parlor, Grinder mused with a grin. “Though, poking the baby daughter of a rival club… can’t say we’ve done that. Even my dick knows there’s some places you just do not stick it to.”

  “She was legal, fuck you.” Snapped the Butcher with color highlighting his cheeks.

  “You mean there’s a pussy you haven’t been in, Arson? Unfuckingbelievable, we thought that shit was just an urban myth.�
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  Arson fired Snake a shit eating grin.

  Rider scowled his mean prez scowl. “Why the fuck do you assclowns descend to talkin’ about your dicks? Can we have one church without dicks as the main topic? Thank-fuckin’-you,” he waited a second for the roars to calm down. “As I was sayin’ thought the guy might be talkin’ out his ass, they’re careless, not carin’ who sees what they do, but Jed reported he’s been followed twice this month. Looks to be an unmarked car.”

  The table erupted in loud what the fucks. Grinder sat up straighter in his chair. Who the hell was messing with Uncle Jed? One of the senior retired members who hung around couple times a week and besides switching up his coffee recipes he was straight as they come, Rider didn’t involve the old man in anything other than being a confident.

  “Do you think they’re still watching us because of Hades?”

  “Grinder?” Rider turned eyes to him and Grinder shook his head.

  “From what my guy in the bureau said his case is mostly open and shut, they assume he’s took to the wind in light of them thinking he torched his own club and killed everyone inside. Only those around this table and Hawk, know Hades is dead and not being found any time soon. Speaking of which, I need the readies to pay my guys.” Rider nodded towards the treasurer giving him the okay to sanction the sort of cash that was requested. Grinder greased a lot of hands for info.

  “So, we’re back to what … the ATF are watching all MC’s for fun, on the off chance we slip and fall on our faces with a confession?” Asked Pretty-boy. If there was anyone who was too normal-looking to be attached to an outlaw set up it was Mace, and yet, Grinder thought, the guy was absolutely one of them. The deep rumble of his tone showed just how irritated he was. Same went for every man around the table. Cops were so fucking nosy.

  Not the first time they had the law after them, not the last, he reckoned, but with the Russians in town it was possibly the last thing they needed. It meant they had to be extra cautious with just how they dealt with Grigori.

  From the opposite side of the table, right next to a silent Texas, Capone posed a question Grinder and Rider had discussed many times. “Hermano, can you get anyone inside the ATF?”

  “I’ve tried. They’re locked up tighter than Snake’s jockies.”

  Guffaws.

  Texas cleared his throat, his head hanging over his clenched fists, otherwise he didn’t chime in. “Something to add, treasurer?” Asked Rider.

  All eyes turned to Texas who took about a week to reply. “No, Prez.”

  “Okay. So, be extra vigilant, you got it? I ain’t bailin’ one of you jokers out. That goes for you, Law, you’ll just have to make someone your prison bitch.” Directed Rider with a dirty smirk.

  To which Lawless fired back. “I don’t mind. Might be nice for a vacation. Do you think I’d get a double cell?” He was such a freak.

  The meeting broke up after jobs for the day were handed out.

  Grinder was working in the shop all day. He’d rather be working under Luxe, without it being an option he was stuck with engines.

  Scowling to himself for putting the dirty rotten thief back in his frontal lobe he got to his feet and made his way to the door, only to be nearly floored by Texas shoulder checking Grinder in his haste to get out. “Watch the fuck out, brother, I like having two shoulders.” He laughed lightly.

  Texas turned ruddy, swerving half of his body. “Hell. Sorry, Nate. Just in a hurry for ... Catch you later, yeah?” and he was gone in a long-hurried stride. Damn, maybe the treasurer was on a pussy promise. About time since he never saw him play with the chicks.

  Even Grinder would power walk if he had a call from Luxe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “She’s not you, love.” – Grinder

  The strains of Def Leppard - Pour Some Sugar on Me boomed from each of the wall speakers. Through his drunken stupor, Grinder could feel the vibrations travel into his boots, up his legs, that shit pounded in his chest with a steady thrum. One of the prospects in charge of the music at least had good taste. If Capone was doing the tunes, fuck, they’d all be doing the salsa.

  He swayed and it had nothing to do with the music. The floor shifting under him in sticky undulations.

  Maybe he’d lay off the booze and switch back to the green, he’d have a couple more smokes and crash out.

  Taking the tilt out of his body, Grinder leaned his bulk up against the edge of the chrome bar, slow blinking sleepy eyes surveying his club and everyone in it. Tonight, had been crazy as fuck, no one threw a party like an MC. A whole half of a hog had been roasted outside in the custom-made pit, someone had found fireworks in September from a guy he knew, wisely, everyone had stepped back out of the way when Pretty-boy let those things off in case a stray wanted to fly into the crowd, he’d tested so much green he was now tasting colors.

  Liquor flowed like that Jesus river Ruby had told him about that one night they sat around at Preacher’s house after the game, he didn’t remember which river, but it was a lotta fucking booze he knew that, he’d taken full advantage until his belly felt as though with every step he took was sloshing inside his skin, he was gonna be pissing out pure whiskey. Groupies congregated everywhere as f a brother had bussed in more than usual, most he didn’t even recognize to put a name to them, tits and ass for days.

  The party was jam-packed. If they cared for the law, the local fire chief would probably close the place down for over capacity, the locals, retired members and their old ladies mingled with the patched in boys. An MC sure knew how to enjoy every hedonistic second.

  Grinder tapped his ring fingers on the bar, noticed Lawless skulking like a shadow over in one of the corners, these sort of club parties were never his scene, he preferred to keep himself to himself, though he lurked on the fringes sipping his one drink and watching.

  Rider and Zara down the other end, cozier than he’d ever seen them, and for a pair who were big on the PDA that was saying something. Zara was whispering something to the prez, he was leaning down to reach the tiny woman he loved, both were grinning. Intimacy all over their faces.

  Something like jealousy slicked through Grinder’s full gut. He had to shift his eyes away when Rider moved his hand and cupped Z-girl’s rounded belly. A possessive papa already.

  His gaze moved through the crowd, it said a lot about him being desensitised to other women currently since seeing a chick feeding her tit into the mouth of a brother didn’t twinge a flicker of lust.

  Maybe when he was sobering he’d kick his own ass for the incessant pity parties he was throwing himself, but for now he brooded against the bar, watching his friends hump and grind with casual women, finding dark corners to do a bit more than that, a few month ago that would more than likely have been him.

  Ironically, since he was never a slave for the pink and the wet, now all he hungered to be was a goddamn slave on his knees head buried under Luxe’s skirt lapping at her wetness, worshiping until she screamed yanking his hair out at the roots.

  His body stirred, he adjusted his dick behind the zipper before it cut the blood supply off and sighed.

  “Hey, handsome. Can I bring you anything?”

  A dark-haired woman, mid-twenties maybe, with a smile flushing her face sidled up to his arm. Cocking his head, if he squinted he could almost pretend she was Luxe, couldn’t he? This one was taller. His thief was a page of perfect sexiness his tongue wetted for.

  A hand landed on his forearm, slid up to his bare bicep and stayed there.

  “Nah, I’m good.” He assumed he said, the words slurped off the end of his tongue.

  He was watching Preacher get his freak on with his old lady on the dance floor, mouth lifted in a grin, his buddy was a show-off for his woman.

  “You sure, babe? I can get you anything you want.” Grinder would have to be dead in his grave for a month not to catch the lilt of sex invite oozing out of her glossed lips. He concentrated on her face, trying to bring it into full focus.

&
nbsp; He could lose himself in her body, couldn’t he? Just pump and empty, forget the dirty rotten thief had ever existed, forget the hours they spent together when she’d used his body into exhaustion.

  Like his body recognized just who was on Grinder’s mind it grew harder, painfully so, wanting only one woman despite the one at his side pushing her tits into his ribs. “We can have some fun, if you want.”

  He did want. So, fucking much. From a woman who drove him nuts.

  With a hard swallow, he bit back the arousal pounding between his ears picturing Luxe’s lush mouth on the woman in front of him.

  It was so wrong.

  “What’s your name?” he didn’t really care, he asked because it was what you did. The blurred image of her face smiled flirtatiously, her hand stroking his arm, up into his hair. To stop her going further Grinder gripped the top of her arm. She moaned. It felt all wrong in his grasp. “I’m Dani.”

  Dani. It sounded nothing like Luxe.

  Is that what he needed to rid himself of the cloying hunger, to feast on someone brand new that wasn’t a thief? It was a trick old as time, wasn’t it? Just a simple groupie who would open her legs and accept every hard ram of his body.

  He grew sick to his stomach considering it, somehow feeling like he would be cheating on Luxe. Fuck. Fuck. Luxe wasn’t his, she didn’t belong to him and she certainly didn’t want to own him, he wasn’t even sure he wanted that, it was the hazy lust doing his thinking, and as far as she was concerned Grinder had been a fun dick to twirl on for a few hours, she didn’t know of his year-long obsession.

  Without making his intentions known to her, he’d tied himself to the thief and expected her to instinctively know this and go along with his brilliant plans. For fucks sake, he needed that ass kicking more than ever.

  “You’re so handsome. Really fucking handsome, I love your beard.” Blurred faced Dani told him, moving closer to him, her lower half rubbing against his body, giving off purrs that blended into the music and noise of the crowd. Gripping both forearms, rather than pushing her away, he dragged her closer, bent his head, letting it hang there, she breathed out a sex-kitten purr and he smelled the weed on her clothes, the alcohol on her breath, mixed with the heady scent of her perfume, she was sex all over, probably had been with some of his brothers, maybe even tonight, it was the groupies MO, if they couldn’t hook one brother they moved on easily to the next, he was down with a woman and her sexual appetite, he held no judgment. It was always a mutually using of each other. No groupie was mistreated, Rider had made that shit clear to everyone from day one if a man needed reminding, but in the same vain they were not treated as old ladies either.